


let me know where to go (and i'll get you there)

by xTammyVx



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Drunken Kissing, Hand Jobs, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 02:30:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3711493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xTammyVx/pseuds/xTammyVx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Can I kiss you?” he asks, voice small but throaty, barely a hum.</p><p>Nearly letting slip, <i>You don’t usually ask</i>, Zayn changes his mind at the last second, and says, “Of course, like. Yeah.”</p><hr/><p>Niall really likes to kiss Zayn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let me know where to go (and i'll get you there)

**Author's Note:**

> Just something small.
> 
> My betas are blessings. Thank you, [freakforhoran](http://freakforhoran.tumblr.com/) and [laziallgna](http://laziallgna.tumblr.com/)!

They’re piss-drunk, obviously. Almost all the secret stories start that way, with Niall laughing in croaky hiccups, and Zayn clutching at the doorframe, trying to keep his giggling as quiet as possible. Liam’s asleep and he’ll kill them if he’s woken up, but Zayn can’t find it in him to stay silent when Niall makes his way—bent in half to keep from wetting himself—into the toilet, lock clacking clumsily as he tries to shut the door before giving up. He’s fucking _singing_ to himself.

“You’re a mess,” Zayn snorts, though he’s drunkenly hushed by Niall. His fly’s not up. Niall shoves his finger against his own lips, grinning stupidly, before he rocks forward.

By some miracle, Niall’s mouth actually lands on Zayn’s, his lips soft and the kiss lazy. As he pulls away with a soft hum, Niall’s head drops, finding the warmth of Zayn’s tee shirt, instead. “I’m a mess,” he agrees. “S’you in the mornin’.”

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

It’s not the first time they’ve kissed, and it won’t be the last. Zayn stopped counting after the seventh time he woke up after a night out with Niall, mind refusing to stop playing it over and over. There’s no point in talking about it, no reason to make a fuss; Niall’s like that, sometimes. He’s a lad who lives in warped boundaries, who’ll jog between rooms asking for condoms with a hand down his pants, but gets all blushy when someone calls him cute. Niall kissing Zayn just seems like something that makes sense, Zayn thinks.

When the school year begins, Zayn can’t always go out on Saturday nights. Too many tests to grade, and all that. At first, it looks like Niall will continue going out, maybe pulling so that he comes back the next day all loose and smug, or coming home at 4am, kissing Zayn on the mouth, and collapsing in bed.

That’s the routine for about a month. Zayn’s sitting on the same sofa he’s been sitting on every Saturday since he decided that being hungover on Sundays made for more work on Mondays, and Niall comes through in his sweats, grin bright as ever.

“You going out in that?” Zayn asks.

“No, staying in,” Niall replies, falling hard onto the sofa. He wrestles to put his head on Zayn’s lap, shoving aside a couple of books that Zayn hurries to catch before they slip off the sofa. “Guess what I got.”

“An STI,” Zayn says, because he likes how Niall’s eyebrows go all grumpy and knotted.

“No!” Niall snorts. “Don’t be mean.”

Zayn slides his books and pen onto the coffee table. The chances of getting any more work done tonight are slim to nil. “Alright, what’ve you got?”

“Look!” Niall digs in one pocket, frowns, then checks the other, face lighting up. He produces a small bag of weed.

_God bless Niall Horan._

“Bought it off Louis’ dealer. Good shit. Smell,” Niall offers, opening the bag and letting Zayn have a whiff.

“Proper green,” Zayn nods approvingly.

Niall puts the pipe together, holding a filter on the tip of his finger, while Zayn finishes up a couple of papers. Thankfully they’re just short stories, so all Zayn has to do is sign off with a brief note and a smiley. He’s popping the cap back on his pen when Niall takes his first pull, no longer bringing himself to a coughing fit like he used to.

“Hold it,” Zayn says, softly, and Niall obeys until he starts to look uncomfortable. “Exhale.” Niall releases. “Pass the pipe?”

Zayn closes his eyes once he’s had his hit, sucking in more air to force the hot smoke deep down into his lungs. Staying like that, his chest tense as he ignores the automatic prompt to breathe out, Zayn hears Niall puttering about, feels the pipe slide out from between his fingers, and he opens his mouth. Niall dutifully takes his own hit, even lights Zayn’s for him, and repacks the bowl without being asked, because Niall is a fucking blessing, a miracle if Zayn ever saw one.

True to form, Niall goes through the stages just as he always does: the jitters come first, fingers plucking at his jeans and the sofa; then he goes and grabs some snacks, which calms him down; finally, he gets all slow, eyes straying and clinging to Zayn’s face, or his chest. When Zayn’s sucking on the pipe, he looks up to find Niall staring at his lap, and can’t help wondering where Niall’s thoughts are, right now. Zayn keeps holding his breath.

“You’ve got the biggest lungs in the world,” Niall comments, a bit awed. It takes two goes to get a light for him, and Zayn lets Niall’s words swim through his head. _Got t’biggest lungs in t’world._ “Like hot air balloons. You’ll float away.”

Zayn snorts himself into a giggling fit, and Niall passes up the rest of the weed, curling into Zayn instead. Before long, he’s spreading, resting his head on Zayn’s sternum instead, and it can’t be comfy, lying on his front like that, but Niall seems happy all the same. Zayn tries to move down so he can have his head on the arm of the sofa, instead.

“Oi, watch my dick,” Niall protests sleepily.

“Just trying t’get comfortable,” Zayn smirks. “Like, what’s wrong with your dick?”

“Chubbed up a few minutes ago,” Niall mumbles. “Won’t go down. You’re so warm.”

Zayn considers this, considers what that means, how it’d feel if he moved his thigh a bit. He tenses what little muscle he has, and lifts his knee off the sofa, and watches the air _oof_ right out of Niall, small hips looking like they’re about to move before he remembers that he’s not supposed to. Niall peers up at him, grumpy face softening somewhat when his eyes drop to Zayn’s lips, gaze tracing the open seam of them.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, voice small but throaty, barely a hum.

Nearly letting slip, _You don’t usually ask_ , Zayn changes his mind at the last second, and says, “Of course, like. Yeah.”

Pulling himself off his front and onto his knees, Niall takes a second to find his balance, but then he’s smiling just a bit, showing that he’s okay, and he angles in for Zayn’s neck. Zayn’s not in the best position for a decent necking, so he sinks down, wriggles until Niall’s on top of him, mouth slick and hot as it follows Zayn’s throat down to the swallow of his collarbone. Letting his eyes slip shut and his mouth crack open, Zayn just relaxes, enjoys this for what it is. Niall’s kissing his neck and he’s bloody good at it.

The weight comes back onto Zayn’s hips just as Niall reaches his mouth, and maybe if they were both in jeans, Zayn could’ve missed it, but in sweats there’s no denying that Niall is definitely still hard. Niall distracts Zayn with a kiss, and it’s like Benjamin Button, like this is all going backwards. First they’re hard. Then they’re necking. Now they’re kissing. Zayn takes a moment to appreciate how good the weed was, because he’s out of his fucking mind if he’s thinking about Benjamin Button while Niall’s snogging him breathless.

“I fuckin’ love kissing you,” Niall murmurs. He says it like it’s a relief, like he’d been aching for this. “Always love how your mouth feels.”

Zayn could follow that up with something corny, like slipping a hand into Niall’s slacks and asking, just as softly, _Wanna feel it here?_ but this is good, and Zayn’s always keen for a snog when he’s high, sees no reason to rush. “Should hope so,” he whispers. “You’re always coming back for more, so, like…” He doesn’t know how to finish that sentence.

“I want to kiss you all the time,” Niall says, hips dragging out a slow, tentative rhythm. “S’just easier when we’re drunk, but I want to try it when we’re sober.”

“Think all your blood’s left your big head, love,” Zayn replies with a half-smile. This is the first explanation Niall’s ever given him, and it was a lot more loaded than he’d been expecting.

“Yeah.” Niall’s voice is drawn tight, so Zayn tilts his hips up, letting Niall know that it’s okay for him to want this, to do this, as juvenile and dirty as it is. Niall takes the hint, mouth going slack on Zayn’s shoulder so he can focus on finding the pace he needs, rutting into Zayn’s barely-existent tummy, arse bumping back on Zayn’s dick just enough to keep it hard and interested. “Don’t think I’ll get off like this, t’be honest. Don’t think I can.”

“That’s okay,” Zayn assures him, hands sliding up from the lazy grip they had on Niall’s waist, fingertips meeting at the small of Niall’s back. He pulls his nails across Niall’s soft skin, outward from his spine to his sides, imagining four red stripes, and Niall fucking _whines_ for it, the noise so deep and _needy_.

“You could— I could blow you, or we— I could do with a hand job, like,” Niall suggests, one offer coming after another because he keeps distracting himself by kissing Zayn’s neck, his ear, and finally his mouth again.

“Hand job means we don’t have to move,” Zayn agrees.

Grinning through the bright red of his blush, Niall pushes up onto one hand, using the other to pull his sweats down his thighs, and Zayn helps him with his briefs, mostly since Niall’s having a bit of trouble doing it one-handed.

When sharing a flat with people like Harry, one becomes accustomed to nudity very quickly, whether it be their own or someone else’s. It’s never like this. It’s flaccid cocks and naked arses at 7am when they’re all bustling about, getting ready for the day. It’s not at all how Niall is now, biting his lip and sighing happily when Zayn gets him in-hand. This is something else, almost otherworldly, and it’s driving Zayn mad enough that he’s hardly thinking as he pushes his own sweats and pants to a messy heap at his knees, opening his fist up so his dick can squeeze in against Niall’s. Niall nearly loses it, his stomach visibly lurching and tensing.

“You like it, yeah?” Zayn pants, although the question’s immediately answered when Niall jerks clumsily into his grip.

“You askin’ me? Seriously,” Niall huffs, and maybe he’s laughing but it gets caught in how breathy he sounds, face tucked back into Zayn’s neck. He’s put his weight on his elbows, meaning he can fuck Zayn’s hand how he wants, their cocks rubbing together in the tight heat, so Zayn can barely think straight. That’s not the weed, either. All the weed is doing is adding sensitivity, pricking Zayn’s nerves when Niall goes back to mouthing wetly at Zayn’s skin, only now he’s _whimpering_ , too, and moaning in an _oh-oh-oh_ kind of way. It’s when his hand shoots up and the pathetic stubs of his fingernails bite into Zayn’s arm, and Niall hisses, “ _Zayn_ ,” that Zayn comes.

It catches them both by surprise, but Zayn’s body is moving ahead of his brain, hips shooting up, socked toes digging into the cushions, head tipping back, and it’s too much when Niall follows, getting totally stiff and pumping out shot after shot of jizz. Zayn feels the thump of each pulse, can only gape and try to force his lungs to calm down as he enjoys the sight.

“We’re a fucking mess,” Niall wheezes.

“My _top’s_ a fucking mess,” Zayn replies, not that he really cares.

Niall mumbles something that might be, “I’ll clean it,” but the words are all a bit lost in Zayn’s mouth. They keep snogging even when they’ve both gone soft, Zayn’s sticky hand resting on Niall’s thigh. Fucking gross, but sex usually is, and Niall doesn’t seem to mind.

“Your bed,” Niall says. “I spilled coffee on mine, and the sheets are in the wash.”

“Did you just snog me for a bed?” Zayn asks, easing himself into an upright position. He’s dizzy from it, still.

“No! Of course not,” Niall grins, cheeky.

“Liar.” Zayn pulls up his pants, and Niall looks like he’s just remembered his dick’s out, too, and quickly does the same.

“I’ll prove it,” Niall offers, giving Zayn a hand up.

Zayn squints at Niall, confused and overwhelmingly endeared. “How?”

Niall tips forward, his balance untrustworthy, and they’re only saved by the wall behind Zayn’s back. “’Cause I’ll snog you in the morning, too,” Niall answers.

It’s at that moment that Zayn realises— he doesn’t need to ask what this is, or why Niall likes kissing him so much. He has a pretty good idea.

God fucking bless Niall Horan.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 5 Seconds of Summer's _Kiss Me Kiss Me_.
> 
> Tumblr is [camonialle](http://camonialle.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
